


Padme's Last Wish

by DestielsDestiny



Series: Love Letters to a Jedi Master [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adoption, Alderraan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Leia Organa, Awesome Luke, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bamf Bail, Bamf Breha, Canon Divergence - Revenge of the Sith, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Feels, Family Secrets, For some reason that is not an official tag, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Luke, It features, Jedi, Jedi being awesome, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, OT3, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory Negotiations, Poor Obi-Wan, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-OT3, Protective Obi-Wan, Recovery, Serious Injuries, Slow Build, Slow Burn, There are waterfalls, This will be long, Women Being Awesome, You Have Been Warned, epically long, first in a series, seriously, temple massacre references, this story is basically about Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 18:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: Padme Amidala lived long enough to demand her children be raised together. Or, the one where Bail opens his home, Breha opens her heart, and Obi-Wan is just trying to hold on at all.





	1. Prologue: Her Last Wish

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. This will be long. Very long.

_Bail Organa watches. He watches as the Republic falls, as the bastion of peace and justice that has held the galaxy together for the last thousand years is burned to ashes from the inside out._

_He watches as cheers herald the doom of them all. He watches as it breaks the most noble and loyal heart he’s ever met. He watches as Padme Amidala’s hope crumbles into tiny pieces._

_He watches, heart stuck in his throat and screams caught in his soul, as the guardians of that peace, the protectors and keepers of that justice, are gunned down with little fanfare and less thought. He watches as the Jedi are massacred, down to the last child._

_He watches the genocide of an entire culture, the loss of an entire religion, and feels something crack inside himself._

_Bail watches the galaxy lose something precious that day. Something he cannot name, for all that he feels his own loss of it more keenly than he’s ever felt anything in his life._

_Later, in the months and years following that day, Bail watches the impossible. He watches the survivors, so precious and so woefully few, he watches as they survive that loss. He watches as they live through. As they keep breathing. As they keep fighting._

_He watches those Jedi, and he thinks, how could the galaxy ever kill something this beautiful. This courageous. This good._

_He watches the Empire rise out of the cheers of government and the ashes of children. He watches the Jedi become demons and the Sith saviors in the space of less than week._

_He watches his best friend die cold and in pain, her children ripped from her body by medical droids and cruel, cruel fate and he learns what hate feels like._

_He watches a boy whose mind must have been exploding with the knowledge of all those who had just been snuffed out of existence stand up and save his life, with no thought to his own._

_He watches the Hero with No Fear become the Empire’s Enforcer. He watches a good man become a monster. He watches a monster be hailed as a saint._

_He watches the oldest living Jedi defeated and falling into despair. He watches him give up._

_He watches a man he’s been in love with for nearly a decade hold the infant son of his own child with such reverence that it takes a woefully long time for any of them to notice the rapidly spreading red stain blooming over Obi-Wan’s singed clothing._

_Bail Organa watches the Clone Wars end. He watches the Republic falls. He watches the Jedi Order fall. He watches as the galaxy loses itself to darkness, leap by shattering leap._

_He watches as they all fail, in every way possible. In every way that has ever been unimaginable._

_He watches one of the last two living Jedi fight for his life on a cold, clinical operating table in the middle of cold, dark space, Padme’s body a barely cooling husk inches from the squalling forms of her newborn children, Yoda a morose and aged figure in the corner, and he learns what it feels like to lose faith._

_In the galaxy. In the Republic. In his friends. In himself. In the Force._

_Bail Organa watches. Watches all of it. And for a moment, he feels such hatred for the Force. Such rage. Such blame._

_But Bail Organa also watches Padme live long enough to name her children._

_He also watches Obi-Wan smile through his tears, his singed beard grasped in Leia’s tiny, preternaturally strong fingers._

_He also watches Yoda’s ears rise a fraction at the sound of Luke’s cries, at the smell of Padme’s tears.  
He also watches as Padme grips his hand, reaching for Obi-Wan with a weak finger, her face drained of all colour, her children naked and yet warm against her skin, so they can feel their mother’s heartbeat, just this once. _

_He also watches Obi-Wan Kenobi find the strength to nod when Padme whispers a broken, “There’s still good in him. I know there’s…still good in him,” from a throat Anakin crushed beyond repair._

_He also watches his own tears fall into Padme’s tangled hair as she looks at him so fiercely, so strongly, and yes so hopefully, as she makes him promise. “Look after them for me. All of them. Protect them Bail, please.” Her breath falters even as his catches, “Love them.”_

_He watches as that gaze slides to Obi-Wan, slides to the man she met in a firefight, and got to know in a war, and watches as she closes her eyes and finds the strength to still believe in the Force, in spite of everything. “Keep them together Obi, please. Raise them. Train them. Tell them I loved them.” Obi-Wan isn’t crying somehow, but Bail never forgets what a broken man looks like. Never forgets what he sees in that moment, reflected from those stormy-green eyes._

_“Promise me you will all be together. Ob-Wan…please. I need to know you will all be alright, somehow, someday.”_

_Bail watches as Obi-Wan Kenobi leans his forehead against Padme’s heated skin. He watches as the Jedi Master’s eyes slide closed against the sound of her breath leaving her body, never to return. He watches a shaking hand close her eyes, a quiet voice whisper into her hair, “I promise My Queen. You have my word.”_

_Bail watches Obi-Wan gather up the twins and hold them against his own heart, before their only memory of their mother becomes hearing her heart stop beating, rather than remembering what they beat sounded like._

_He watches Master Yoda sit through a remarkably well argued, incredibly diplomatic, elegantly worded fuck you of why exactly Obi-Wan would be carrying out Padme’s last wishes for her children, last two living Jedi be damned, with all due respect Master._

_He watches the diminutive master’s ears actually twitch, amazingly. Watches the gimer stick playfully thump into Obi-Wan’s shin, a gravelly, “Permission you have, my very young Padawan,” echoing around the conference chamber._

_He watches Obi-Wan’s mouth drop open, watches for a precious, incredible moment, as the last two Jedi forget they are now the last of everything either of them as ever known._

_Bail watches as Obi-Wan returns to the twins, holding them in turn until he literally keels over into Bail’s rushed arms, Luke held protectively against his chest even as he falls into unconsciousness._

_Bail watches as the twins stir in his arms, Leia’s eyes opening moments before Luke’s equally midnight blue orbs join the fray, both children gazing up at him with a timeless, depthless quality that steals his breath away._

_Bail Organa watches his children look him in the eye for the first time, and in that moment, he learns to believe in the Force again._


	2. Knowing how to crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal Palace in Alderaan City has no landing pad.

The Royal Palace in Alderaan City has no landing pad. It is a long-held quirk of tradition that generally sparks more amusement than frustration. 

Last week, Breha had laughed for almost an hour at the look on her great-aunt’s face at the indignity of being obliged to board a transport to reach the Royal Seat. Really Breha, child, the backwardness of tradition is most inconvenient. 

A week ago, the galaxy had been an unimaginably naïve place. 

Now, Bail is ready to go get a pick-axe himself and start hacking rock flat, because in this moment, tradition is threatening to doom one of the galaxy’s last two surviving Jedi. 

Because right now, Bail has one mute 800-year-old, two squalling newborns, one wailing astromech, the Negotiator bleeding out under the slightly incompetent singes of a medical droid, one dead senator, and one protocol droid who really, really doesn’t know how to fly piloting the damn ship. 

Because right now, Bail is so very done with this Sith-spittingly terrible day. 

Naturally, Breha fixes everything. 

00

It takes thirty-seven minutes for the Republic’s fall to be broadcast across the galaxy. No one calls it that, not even on Alderaan, where treason will come to be a word that means hope and bravery and freedom and loyalty. But in those first moments, even on Alderaan that is still a far off ideal for another, brighter age. 

In those first moments, Breha Altes Organa turns her eyes from the broadcast washing the Palace Command Center with an unnatural green-blue haze, and whispers a single, world less prayer to the Force. For those lives already lost, for those yet to be lost, for the Galaxy, for her people, for her husband, for her Jedi, for herself. 

And when she opened her eyes, it was with a clear gaze and raised head that she shut down the broadcast, cutting off Chance-terribly sorry, Emperor Palpatine mid-speech, and went to do what she’d fought tooth and nail, life and death, to do since her girlhood. 

Serve her people, to the best of her abilities, as long as ever she could. 

00

The message is staticky, bouncing off her ears in all the wrong places, and Breha’s anxiety is only betrayed by the smallest clench of a single finger on the transmission button. 

A clench that increased with every snatched, apparently random word in what must have been complete sentences once. 

“Ob-…Bacta…landing…protocol…terri-fly-…can-t-lan…Breh-hel” 

Static took over once more, and Breha blinked for a moment, Cantlan? 

The static broke again, “Gr-Aunt-Nel…right” Breha almost slapped her own forehead for her unforgivable slowness at a time such as this. Her hand slammed down on the receiver with more force than was strictly seemly, but as ever, she hardly gave a jot. 

“Message received, rendezvous in the East Meadow, we’re coming to you.” She hesitated for but a moment, then leaned closer to the transmitter and bit out a fierce, “Keep him alive Prest, just keep him alive a little longer, I’m on my way.” A smile quirked her lips, infinitesimally small, but there nonetheless, “But you may tell Aunt Nelair she was right.” 

Then with a flicked glance at her guards and the press of a button, Breha was up and running, her hair streaming behind her in a most unqueenly fashion. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, one of her prayers might be answered this day.

00

Bail has never helped to place anyone in Bacta before. 

He’s visited patients in the tanks, seen them in the aftermath, shivering finely but healthier looking than is strictly normal, somehow. 

He’d even seen Obi-Wan in Bacta. More than once, come to that. But he’d never helped but anyone into the tank. 

Never even seen it, in fact. But, the medical droid had sputtered out a distinctly unhelpful, “The patient will die without Bac-c-c-c-t-ttttt-” before collapsing in a sparking heap over Obi-Wan’s prone form, so it was left for Bail to maneuver the surprisingly heavy weight of his sort-of-best-friend-in-all-the-world-besides-Breha-except-that-friend-hardly-covered-it into the thankfully partially prepared tank of blue-clear viscus…something. 

Bail wasn’t actually sure what was contained in Bacta. But judging from the way it was stinging his hands with every heave of Obi-Wan deeper into the hopefully-life-saving substance, he would be looking it up directly they returned to…anything approaching a better situation than being obligated to choose between letting one of the last two remaining Jedi in the galaxy bleed to death in his arms and trusting a gold-plated protocol droid with two newborns. 

R2-D2 beeped helpfully from somewhere to his right. After the med-bot had unceremoniously expired, Bail had found himself stuck gleaning medical advice from an astromech. 

Which was no aspersion against the little droid’s knowledge or skill, but rather his own stubborn refusal to let Anakin teach him more than a few phrases in Binary. 

Anakin. Obi-Wan jerked suddenly in his grip, a groan of anguish ripping from his lips that Bail knew had nothing whatever to do with the man’s plentiful wounds. 

Bail nearly bit clean through his own lip at his sheer carelessness. 

The droid rolled away with a series of beeps that might have included rebreather, and Bail takes the stolen moment to run a sticky hand through Obi-Wan’s singed hair. 

And it was probably just wishful thinking, but for an instant, the Jedi’s head seemed to loll into his palm, rather than away from it.

00

They don’t so much as land in the East Meadow as execute a controlled crash-landing there. 

Bail blames Master Yoda. 

Somehow, when it came time to divvy up urgent tasks in the first wake of Padme’s passing, Bail got saving Obi-Wan, C3P0 got flying, and Yoda got babysitting. 

At some point after Breha’s voice had crackled over the comm like an answer to a prayer, those last two were wisely switched. Or so Bail had thought. 

“Master Yoda…” Bail paused to secure himself more firmly to a convenient console handle as the ship lurched alarmingly towards the ground, “…I thought you said you knew something about flying.” And Yoda, Force curse him, actually looked away from the controls to wiggle his ears in Bail’s direction, “Know something about flying, I do indeed Viceroy.” The ship bucked again. “Know how to crash, I do.” And then the most venerable master in the once great Jedi order had the nerve to cackle at him. 

Bail wisely choose to return to the improvised med-deck and assist R2 with holding the Bacta tank steady. 

They don’t quite hit the ground at full speed. And remarkably, or not so remarkably Bail is forced to concede, the decking stays relatively level the entire time. 

And, he supposes, as they finally come to rest on the edges of what was once a stately meadow of finely kept aster-tulips, at least now dear old Aunt Neliar’s smug expression at being proven right about something, yet again, will be tinged with outrage at the state of most proper field on Alderaan. 

00

Breha meets them on the southern edge of the field, jumping effortlessly to the earth and breaking into a run before the landing-hatch is even fully extended. Behind her, the hover-platform Alderaan’s queen just alighted from glides in her footfalls, with guards and his sisters and actual medical personnel aboard. 

In a few moments, they will be surrounded, Rouge and Cessy pestering him with questions, medical attendants taking charge of the tank in which Obi-Wan rests, casting askance glances at the odd angle of the patient’s rest and carefully averting their eyes from Breha and Bail’s intertwined fingers pressing all too fleetingly against the cold, plasti-glass surface. 

In a few moments, an unlikely pairing of a green Jedi and a gold protocol droid will lumber down the ramp, twin bundles held carefully in their arms, and Bail will draw Breha’s eyes to them with a hand shot through with fine tremors and a voice wet with shock and grief, yet somehow light with joy, “Breha…meet Leia and Luke…our children.”

In a few moments, time will speed up, Bail will be the Prince-Viceroy to Breha’s Queen-Monarch, and together, they will figure out how to lead their people in a galaxy that has been brought to its knees by a blow from its very heart. 

In that first moment however, Bail wraps his arms around Breha, presses his forehead to her shoulder, letting the familiar orange pulse of her heartbeat wash over his tired eyes, and simply breaths.


End file.
